He's A Liar
by editorofthequibbler
Summary: She fell. He broke the Bluebird's wings, and she fell. Now it's Tiger Lily's job to put it out of its misery. A dark story of kind of PeterxTiger Lily / PeterxWendy It's my own twisted take on Peter Pan, a lot more blood and death involved. :D Read and review x
1. He's A Liar

**Hey! I really don't get how Peter never has Tiger Lily. And I love Tiger Lily. This is really, really dark. But I enjoyed writing it. I always have disliked Wendy. She's too good.**

**So, I've written this. :D At the moment it's a one shot, but I may continue some how. Read &amp; Review please! x**

_**He's a Liar**_

"He's a liar, you know."

The cave is dank, depressing. The Bluebird's pale eyes flicker, afraid, in the shadows. Her nightdress is ripped and torn, big black mud stains adorn the light, airy fabric.

"A liar?"

There's a tremor in her voice, that no one could ignore. The blonde bluebird adjusts her messy curls as uncertainty crashes upon her.

She fell. He broke the Bluebird's wings, and she fell. Now it's Tiger Lily's job to put it out of its misery.

With a calm smile, she draws the cool, curved shape of a knife.

This is how it always ends. The knife. The cave.

Peter finds a pretty thing to play with- a trinket- watches in tumble in love with him, fall, crash and gets impatient, bored. Birds aren't any fun unless they fly.

This one. This one is just like all the others. Blonde, blue eyes, a light airy nightgown. Tiger Lily has lost track of the treasures he's brought back. Lost track of the messes she's had to clear up.

She calls them all the same thing now. Bluebirds.

She's the cleaner. The one who tidies up before Peter ends up in a mess he can't untangle, in a mound of crushed, cutting crystal hearts.

He's never asked for it. Never thinks, silly boy. Flitting here and there with his charming, beautiful ways, never wanting to remember where the last one went: even though he knows. Knows that she's lying in this cave somewhere, without a pulse, and a heart he's broken.

This one. Ah, this one. Same as all the others. But different.

What's his nickname for this one again? No, not CharlotteBird or MandyBird or EdithBird. It's not ElsieBird or AliceBird or AmyBird. That's it. WendyBird.

Poor, broken WendyBird. She feels for this one. Because she's so good. So infuriatingly good. Peter loves good. Peter loves neat. Peter loves those shiny trinkets best of all. He always breaks those ones first. It's only been a while. A week perhaps, or is it a year?

A short while since WendyBird came. Not long enough to really enjoy what she has seen. Just long enough to be broken. And then tossed aside.

It's a long while since Tiger Lily made that pact with the Lost Boys. Make me forever young like you and I'll make sure all the pretty dolls leave.

This one has to die. Has to die. Die, even though Peter's dragged her brothers here too. They'll have forgotten her soon. They've got lost in the magic of the Lost Boys. Even this little Bluebird has forgotten where she came from. It only takes a short while.

"He loves me. Loves my blonde hair and blue eyes. He said so. He's not a liar."

Tiger Lily sighs.

Of course he is. He never realises it, but he is. A liar, a destroyer.

Slowly, Tiger Lily raises the knife.

"Don't love Peter Pan. He'll break you, whether you're a Bluebird, or a Raven."

It's the easiest kill she's ever made.

**So, shall I continue? I love PeterxTiger Lily because I just think she deserves him. This isn't really PeterxTiger Lily, but it almost is. One sided.**

**I think I'll continue it. Review Review Review, my people!**


	2. He's an Artist

**Told you it wouldn't remain a oneshot for long! I am loving writing Tiger Lily, she's so calm and cold. Tell me what you think.**

He's an Artist

Tiger Lily hates the camp. For her, it's always so busy, so bustling. There can never be anything damp, or dark: nothing ever halts. Ever.

In a way, Tiger Lily is glad of the distractions. It helps her slip away, slip to the foliage of the exotic forest, shooting down squirrels and searching for the Lost Boys. Searching for Peter.

This time, though, there is no escaping the Fire Dance. Chief Red Eagle had made sure that the girls were all ready for the event. For months, the Indian girls prepared headdresses and clothes for the night. Sewing with handmade needles, pricking fingers, shedding tears.

The Bluebird has already made her dress. It lies in the Dressing Tent, crumpled and lifeless, waiting for someone to claim it, with its embroidery of soft blue and pink. No one to dance in it now.

Tiger Lily sees it with no regret.

In the beginning, she had felt for the WendyBird, who'd been too good for the King of the Lost Boys, but the final words the pretty thing spoke had made the kill easy.

_"__He loves me. Loves my blonde hair and blue eyes. He said so. He's not a liar."_

Tiger Lily does not have blonde hair and blue eyes. Her eyes are, deep and dark: the colour of shadows, of hidden things and blackened earth, her hair is soft, and wild, burnt black with her years of hunting and fixing. As it sways around her waist, Tiger Lily adjusted the raven feather in her hair.

She had never been Peter's bird. Not TigerBird or LilyBird. She had been different, singular. She'd always been his Raven. Darker, crueller. Uglier.

Then again, it isn't her blood that decorates that damp cave floor.

"Tiger Lily?"

Sweet Owl, stout and chubby, stands at her side. Her eyes are red rimmed, and her mouth chapped. She's an odd one, Sweet Owl, bad at hunting and sewing. Bad at headdresses and building fires. She can only cook. But not very well.

She's one of the very few women in the camp who does not have long hair. It's cut short, halfway down the neck, and she often threads clay beads and wood pieces through it. Sweet Owl is strange, and kind. Her love for Tiger Lily, the only Indian Girl who had ever had any patience with her, is never ending. Tiger Lily has never minded her: she has a bountiful smile and...blood soaked hands.

"What happened Sweet Owl? Your needle, did it slip again?"

Calmly, coldly, Tiger Lily finds a rag, and tries to wiping away the red substance. It is already healing, blood drying to a distasteful brown. Beneath the mess, lies neat crossed cuts, zigzags, patterns. Pretty wounds.

"Sweet Owl? Who did this?"

Her round chubby face is surprised, upset as she splutters out a few words.

"A Lost Boy. He said he could make my hands pretty."

Scars. It's traditional with the Lost Boys. Only Peter-pretty, flitting Peter- does not wear the emblems of decorative pain. If cut the right way, the scars will heal raised, lumps of patterns of the skin. Clumsy beauty.

Tiger Lily cannot hate the Lost Boy who did this. He has maimed her, but he has maimed her beautifully. She has great respect for these mad children, who make their clumsy way with a knife and a taste for the arts. Insane artists.

But she can feel sorry for the confused face of this girl. Sweet Owl: always so kind, so innocent, so quietly pretty. Never perfect, never close, but true. Honest and loyal and real.

The Lost Boys are innocent too. They do not realise they are breaking something til it is broken. Crushed into pale little stones beneath their feet. They are loud, free wild ones: and they pull jolly darkness from this jumbled land. They want to have fun. And they have it.

She forgets how many of Bluebird's have had scars from Peter and his friends: but there are many. Many messy shapes carved on rotting human skin.

Carefully, Tiger Lily takes Sweet Owl's hands.

"This will hurt for days," she murmurs, stroking each forming ridge, each line. "You will find it difficult to work."

Sweet Owl does not try to stop her tears, as she lifts her hands to her face. Her fingertips leave blood trails across her cheeks. Even this is beautiful.

"Can...can...you stop the p...p...p..pain?"

No. Nothing can stop the pain.

"It won't be as bad tomorrow. It will be easier then. Go wash your hands in the river. Wash away the blood."

The figure slumps off, and the sobs rack her body as she does so. So many cuts. Sliced so easily.

Tiger Lily wonders which Lost Boy made the human art. Slightly, probably. He'd always been good with a knife.

The dress is still lying there. It annoys her. It's too pretty. Too sweet. Her knife is already her hands. Shredded in seconds. The cloth hits the floor in tattered strips

All gone.

**Review! I hope you liked it, my darling imaginary readers! I certainly did xxx**


	3. He's A Saviour

_**Hello, everyone!**_

_**I can't believe that I've been getting a fw ore reviews for this story. :)**_

_**Sorry about this crazy weird chapter that a couple of you saw and told me about.**_

_**I DONT KNOW WHAT THE HELL WENT ON.**_

_**For all my beautiful reviewers, sorry. And to Guest: no, the coding wasn't necessary. It was probably something I did. (Cue clumsy face.)**_

_**Okay, so hopefully it's readable now.**_

_**Quibbler x**_

**He's A Saviour**

_Dar da da drum, dar da da drum, dar da da drum..._

The drums are beating as the sun sets. He still isn't here, she thinks, twirling as a Lost Boy crows to the rising moon. The fire is so hot, it scorches her skin.

_Dar da da drum, dar da da drum, dar da da drum..._

Slightly, tall and skinny, approaches her. Second-in-command, he's always been the one with the most dangerous look. Like a panther, always watching with his yellow green eyes. His knife is in his boney hands. He taps the wood handle, lightly, with chewed nails.

"Tiger Lily."

"Slightly."

Tiger Lily's eyes stray to Sweet Owl, terror evident in her eyes. As she holds up her bloody hands, Tiger Lily can just see the forming scars: but wounds have never scared her.

"You see my most recent handiwork."

"Sweet Owl didn't deserve that," she begins, wondering when her Peter will appear. Maybe he's off to find a new Bluebird.

Slightly knows there's something more. He waits, and queries,

"But...?"

"But it is beautiful. So beautiful."

Slightly cracks a smile, showing his crooked teeth. His fox skin cloak stinks, a stench of death rising from it as it shivers in the light breeze.

"Would you like me to do it to you?"

There's joy in his eyes now, for he cannot see the blood his art will cause, the tears, the screams: he can only see the finished outcome. Pretty lines.

"No, Slightly," she sighs. "I am tired of these games. Where is Peter?"

"He's off. He's always off whenever one goes."

Yes. Yes, he is. But Peter never has missed a FireDance...

_Dar da da drum, dar da da drum, dar da da drum..._

They hear him, crowing, yelling, screeching, before they see him. They cheer, and sing, and flirty Moon Flower holds up his feather headdress, screaming his praises to the figure as he appears.

Clothed in green, his hair flops clumsily in the wind. Tiger Lily can just see his slim, toned arms, wrapped around something. Probably an animal. Peter has this weakness when anything cries out for help.

He flits closer, his face appears to be a mask of worry.

"Lost Boys, Lost boys," he cries. "Lost boys, lost boys."

Whatever is he holding? Wrapped in red and blue, pale and dirt caked...the dread mounts as Tiger Lily peers again.

"Lost Boys, Lost boys, WendyBird's hurt!"

WendyBird. WendyBird. The sweet Bluebird with her pretty little ego, the one who was oh so good and special.

Why didn't she just die?

**_A little short, but all I had time for in my crazy life right now. But hopefully it's readable now. PLZ let me know if it isn't. No.4 will arrive soon._**

**_If you guys have time, check out my Timetravel Tomione fic called the "The Timetravelling Firewhisky" I'm getting a beta reader for that baby soon so maybe it can get better._**

**_Thank you for taking your time to read, review and follow!_**

**_Quibbler xxxxx_**


	4. He's A Listener

**Here we are people! A nice long chapter for He's a Liar! I'm glad you're enjoying this! Let me know what you think, and thank you sooo much for the reviews. I love the support for this thing!**

**Quibbler xx**

Peter falls in a chaotic order and lands with pointed toes on the mud soaked earth. Tiger Lily can see the cracked face of the china doll, pale and lined with dirt, lolling back against Peter's shoulder.

His eyes, a mixture of fear and knowing, glance towards Tiger Lily and he steps towards her in lightness amongst grief.

She is terrified. She wants Peter to be kept in his wise state of ignorance for millennia to come, and he has been incredibly easy to fool since the pact had begun.

Does he know?

He holds out the little blonde thing, blue with cold, blue in her nightdress, hair that was curled falling untidily around the pretty little shades of sliced skin.

"Tiger Lily, heal her."

She blinks, stepping backwards in confusion.

"Please," he starts again, tears falling over his eyelashes. "You are good healer. You can save her."

She is to heal what she has tried to destroy. It is ironic, she has time to think, before the girl is passed into her arms.

So light, a skeleton figure of pale skin and rotting soul. Tiger Lily can see those ignorant eyes fading fast alongside the dying sun, and she can only watch Peter's hungry, interested pupils widen.

He is fascinated, she realises, in a distressed way. He has never seen one of them bleeding before now.

"Where did you find her?"

Slightly. He hovers, taunting Tiger Lily, whilst he clings to his puppet leader, even though, even now, he twists the strings to make Peter dance.

"Shadow Leaf Cave, near the lagoon," chimes Peter's voice in fragmented words. "Tiger Lily. Tiger Lily! Can you heal her?"

No.

"Maybe."

For you, I will try my best, she thinks, tracing her hands along distressed skin as she lays the body down.

"Slightly. I will need water."

"Will you?" he smirks, a dangerous edge to his teasing, as there always is.

"Yes." Straight face, clenched fist, dark skin, black heart. "Fetch me some. Now."

He leaves, his hands caressing the air and encouraging his own insanity. As the figure disappears, Peter kneels down at the side of the fallen bird and scans her with his eyes.

"Can you do anything?..." he whispers, his voice cracking a tiny amount as he lays his thin dancing fingers over the fluttering beat of the bluebird's heart.

She watches him with anticipation, waiting for the moment when he turns to curse her back into the hole where she belongs, but instead he simply smiles in the saddest way possible.

"I don't understand," he sighs. But what confuses him so much, Tiger Lily cannot ask, as Slightly is back. Behind him, terrified and trembling in the autumnal air, is Sweet Owl. Scabs have formed like feeble threads across her hands now, yet she is the one holding the weight of a bucket.

Slightly holds a rag. His nimble fingers offer the scrap to Tiger Lily, and she considers the way stains have damaged the surface. But she must take it, as it is the only way she can wipe away the blood.

"Peter, take the bucket from Sweet Owl. Her hands are hurting."

She gives a cursory glance to the feeble girl, who sighs with relief as the load is swept from her, not daring to look at what her hands have now become.

Fast, Tiger Lily works alongside the shadows. There is a witchdoctor here of course, Old Root, sitting by the fire, letting her skin crackle, but she will not help the paleskins. She has a contempt for those who try to take her homeland.

Tiger Lily has more contempt for Wendybird than any of her tribe know, but she will not let it betray this odd lingering loyalty she has for Peter.

Maybe she is selfish, to dream of staying young, but maybe this is kind too. Maybe a dead child is kinder than one that will break the heart of the one she has learnt to appreciate.

Peter was stupid and reckless and living in a fantasy life, but one thing he was not, was cruel. Tiger Lily made up for that. Tiger Lily was so, so cruel. And clever, and sensible, and living amongst the blood and pain and mud. She dragged Pan down. Maybe that was what helped him to survive.

He watches her, and she dares not turn to see his eyes. Her hands, ice cold, scratch at the wounds and sew them up with the thread she uses to make her clothes. It is rough, tasteless healing: there are no ceremonial bones involved and no prayers. They are too hidden away from the fire to feel its warmth, for one, and Tiger Lily is not gentle when she rubs the wounds with herbs. But despite all this , it is good healing.

Peter knows this because she has healed the lost boys time and time again when Old Root would not. When the boys were screaming with fever, he called, and she arrived. When Tootles fell and broke his leg, she fixed it in whatever way she could. Whenever Peter had asked, Tiger Lily had responded, wrapped in her black cloak, sombre and dark except for one fire red flower in her hair.

It is always the same.

"How is she?"

"She is tired, and she is healing," Tiger Lily replies, watching her ragtag wounds. How could this girl, this stupid, brainless girl, have survived puncture wounds made to rip open her very soul.

Tiger Lily was proud of her knife, and it had never failed her. But now, Wendybird could not die, because if she died now, in front of Peter's open eyes, then he would immortalize her in whatever way he could. He would cry so much that every day would be a fresh torture for him.

He would never bring home another bluebird.

And he would never smile again.

Tiger Lily never truly smiled, and if she did, it was after a kill or when Peter made a joke in his effortless way. Other than that, her smile was a dark, callous one: with little meaning other than to maim. Smiling, she felt, led to opening up some part of you that you tried to hide from the rest of the world. An ugly, human part, with tears and attachment. Even though all this was true, Tiger Lily couldn't help but feel that Peter's smile was what made him so young and awake, and if he lost that, then he would never be able to lead. Or ever tell those jokes.

Tiger Lily couldn't let that happen.

An hour later, she steps from the body and Peter moves his hand over the closed eyelids of the doll. She is out in some blackness that Peter cannot comprehend, and he flits over to a standing Tiger Lily, who backs away from the girl. It is odd how someone so sick is so exposed to the autumn air, but Tiger Lily is feeling anything but generous in that moment, as her silent eyes lift up to view Peter floating over her head.

"It's dangerous to fly at night, Peter, especially over my head. If you fall, I cannot heal myself, you know."

He lands, and he opens his sweet, careful mouth and flashes a smile carved from a campfire.

"But Old Root can heal you, and she heals your tribe well."

"She heals you too, Pan. She has a peculiar fondness for you."

He raises his hands up to the sky as if touching the stars in thought, and then looks Tiger Lily straight into her large, cynical eyes.

"Yes, and she is good at that too."

There is a pause, and Tiger Lily leans against a nearby tent in apathy. Her hands trace the animal hide that created the shelter and she lets herself sigh for the innocence of Peter Pan.

"Why won't she heal the others, Tiger Lily?"

"What?"

"Old Root. Why won't she heal Tootles, and Slightly, and Cubby, and all the other Lost Boys?"

Slowly, a calm serenity overtakes Tiger Lily's features, as if recounting a well loved tale.

"Because the Paleskins were cruel to us when we offered so much, Peter."

She looks at him in waiting, and betrays herself into smiling as his eyes widen in realisation. She is about to tell a story. And stories are one of the few things that Pan cannot live without.

As she opens her mouth to continue, a knot of tumbling boys roll towards her as if sensing that something was about to whispered in the night.

There are lots of them.

Cubby is the first to shove himself near Tiger Lily: huge and strong with a scar over one eye and a way of looking older than the rest, he is thoughtless, but harmless.

"Tiger Lily," he greets, his grin wide and adorable, as he sits on the grass at her feet with an agreeable thump.

Behind him, the Twins, white to the point of ghostliness with identical sun scars on their faces say things that no one else understands. They, Tiger Lily knows, are the bare bones of madness.

"The sun is down," screeches one in his private whisper.

"So the blood bubbles," giggles another and they draw animal bones at one another as if they were swords.

She notices Tootles, tiny and tanned, sitting too. Tootles is hideous. He never speaks, and he sits awkwardly, his leg that Tiger Lily tried to heal jutting out at a slightly odd angle. Eyes of mud peer up at her, and his face, screwed with cunning thoughts contorts into a mask of greed and empty nastiness. Then there is Nibs, so intent on forgetting what his past life was, that he can't help but catch a few memories. His name, for example, forever lingers like a breath of stale air.

"Thomas," he mumbles in his sleep. "Thomas come home to mama…"

Other than that he is bland, unremarkable, apart from the way that Slightly uses his skin to practice his cruel art.

Slightly hovers, and he is knowing. Tiger Lily looks at him with an amount of forced respect as he is the only other lost boy that stands upright next to her. Peter is even floating above the grass, legs crossed, interest peaked.

Leaning forward, she feels Slightly's breath against her ear.

"You about to tell a story, Indian?"

"You about to listen, Ghost?" she hisses back, hand tapping her own knife in a clear warning to the boy.

"Only if it's got something pretty in it."

She knows what it means. Things are only pretty when they truly leave a mark, and that mark is often bloody when it comes to history.

"Beautiful."

"Well, speak on Tiger Lily," he finishes, falling to the ground, crossed legs.

"Well," she begins, fingering the fringe of her dress. "I was not around when it happened, and neither was the Chieftain, and not even Old Root. She only knows because it was her mother who was a little child when it happened, and her mother is passed to the other world now."

She pauses, and scans faces to find only interest.

"There are a lot of beliefs that we have, and there are many, many legends that our gods are related to. But this happened to the very tribe that you know now. Old Root knows that once, we lived in the place that you come from. Our tribe, lived where you and your old mama's and papa's, as you would have called them, lived. But, I suppose you might know, that world is a little different than Neverland. There's big countries there, and we lived in one of the biggest of all. It was such a large country, and there were so many different tribes they spread out everywhere, all over the big country."

"So there were lots of you?"

"Lots of different groups of us, and we fought at times. We were not friendly, none of these Tribes were. We would run at each other in battle sometimes, but more often than not, we simply hunted and travelled. Then one day, the Paleskins found us. They came in boats as huge as Hook's, with white sails scrubbed clean, and with weapons. Weapons that you pressed a button and things were flung at you that ripped people in half."

"Like a slingshot," muttered Nibs.

"Yes, like a slingshot, I think, But these were shiny and metal. They were things that didn't consider delicacy. They were rougher and crueller than any other way of killing, because they were so easy. Without thinking, they could murder with a click."

"We were very kind to them at first, but then the people wanted to settle on our lands. Our tribe, and so many others, did not want that. They told the people that they could only have certain places in this huge island, because some belonged to us. But the men didn't listen. They fought us, and all the other tribes. They were not fair. Do you know why?"

"Because….because of the shiny metal things," gasped Peter

"Yes. Because of the things that ripped us in two and caused holes in our hearts. This was not wonderful. This was blood on the fields and blood in the forests. We fought for a long while, our tribe, but after a while, we fashioned a boat and we fled. We travelled for days, and many starved. But one day, we found something."

"What?" came the chorus.

"What?" replies Tiger Lily, glancing at the gathered group. "We found Neverland."

**What do you think? I appreciate the story isn't historically completely accurate, but it's supposed to be legend in Tiger Lily's eyes. :D Thanks for following, favouriting and reviewing!**


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